Wild? Say, if you want to see a wild country, follow Deerfield River as it fights its way down from Vermont, until finally it breaks through the mountains and runs off to join the Connecticut. When you get in among those mountains you will think that you are Christopher Columbus discovering America. "The Rockies are higher," said Skinny, when we had stopped to rest and look around a little. "I read it in a book. Besides, Mr. Norton told us about Lewis and Clark climbing over them. But these are some mountains all right; believe me." That was what we all thought. They were all tumbled and jumbled together in a topsy-turvy way, with the river winding around in every direction, trying to get through, and the railroad following the river. Mr. Norton pointed it out to us and stood there with his hat in his hand, looking. His eyes were shining, and red was coming into his cheeks, as if he was seeing something which we boys couldn't see at all. And maybe he was, for I have noticed that grown folks sometimes can't see and hear the things which we boys see and hear; at any rate, not in the same way. "What does it make you think of?" he asked each of us. Benny's answer was the best of all. "There was once a baseball nine made up of real giants," said he. "They were so big that their heads reached clear up into the sky. One day when they were practising they lost the ball and so they picked up these 'ere mountains and began to throw them to each other, playing catch. Every once in a while some guy would muff the ball, I mean the mountain. Then he would let it lie where it had fallen and pick up another. That is why they are all tumbled together every which way." "That's so," I said. "You can see where the dirt jarred off when they fell, leaving the bare rocks sticking out in a lot of places." "It's alive, boys," said Bill, who had been feeling of Benny's head and looking anxious. "It feels like a nut, but it ain't cracked." "Benny has given us a good description and something to think about," said Mr. Norton. "I don't believe that I should like to live here all the time, but I should enjoy staying a week and drinking in all this beauty. Talk about music! Hear the mountain breeze in the treetops. What does it remind you of, Gabriel?" "It sounds to me exactly like beefsteak frying," Skinny told him, "and it makes me hungry. Let's have some eats." "All right," said Mr. Norton, laughing to himself. "Now that you mention it, I believe that I can detect a faint resemblance. We can't give you beefsteak, but there is some bacon left and that ought to make much the same kind of noise. Whose turn is it to cook?" "It's mine," Hank told him. "Well, get busy, and for fear that we might disturb you, we'll go off somewhere and sit in the shade." We were all as hungry as wolves when Hank at last called us to dinner and it tasted fine, although my piece was burnt a little.